Magic is Myth
by sine ulla animi
Summary: War weary Harry Potter is thrust into a world where magic is myth and science has all the answers. With Death literally looming over his shoulder, Harry is determined to stay out of the war between Humans and Mutants. Unfortunately, Fate never did like Harry. (X-Men: First Class)
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: I've had this idea for a while and just decided to write. It's a Harry Potter/ X-Men: First Class crossover. Let me know if I should continue.**

**Warning: There will be swearing.**

The textbook definition of fear was an unpleasant emotion caused by the belief that something or someone is dangerous, likely to cause pain or a threat. Fear was an emotion that could make you do things that you would never do, if in your right mind. And fear was an emotion that Harry Potter was quite familiar with.

In the past eight years, his worries had turned from upsetting his Uncle and Aunt, to fighting a Dark Lord. No longer did he fear burning breakfast or doing something _freaky._ No longer did he fear being locked under the stairs.

Looking around, he saw a layer of bodies covering the earth.

Hermione.

Ron.

Ginny.

Neville.

Luna.

The pain and horror stricken faces of those who were still living made him believe that they would be better off dead as well. The sleepless nights that would follow, the holes in their hearts that would never truly heal, the pain they would constantly feel, even after months and years.

A small smile crept onto his face as he thought of himself. When he was younger, he wanted nothing more than to be away from the Dursleys.

But now, as the green spell shot towards him, he thought that maybe… maybe the closet under the stairs wasn't so bad.

_It was black. _

_It was dark._

_It was nothing and in his mind, Harry knew quite well that this was it. This was what he had evaded for the last seven years of his life. It was this that he had skillfully avoided throughout his time in the Wizarding World._

_This was death._

_And death was cold. _

_It was unforgiving. _

_It was cruel and its silence was too loud. Its darkness was too bright. _

_But underneath that, underneath that darkness there was a promise of peace. A promise of no pain. Nothing but warmth._

_There was a voice, demanding and cold unlike what he had expected. But it did not come from the darkness. It was commanding him to-_

"Wake up!"

Harry Potter's eyes snapped open, attempting to adjust to the brightness of the room. He looked around at the blurs surrounding him,

"Where are my...where are my glasses?"he asked,

He couldn't make out who the person around him was. And he most definitely did not recognise the voice, it was loud and had a thick american accent.

"Glasses, right. Shit, where did I put them?"

He heard someone fumbling around and the sound of things being knocked over. He started to sit up, even though his stiff muscles screamed in protest.

"Yes. Yes. Here they are."

Something was handed to him and Harry gratefully grabbed the familiar object, slipping them on. The blurs turned to objects and a person and he found himself staring at an old man. He had thinning hair and dark eyes. He wore an old black suit that hung off his thin frame.

He seemed harmless, aside from his foul language.

But then again, he could have easily been a death eater disguised with the aid of polyjuice.

And so with a guarded expression, Harry glanced around for his wand. When he saw it no where in the unfamiliar room, he turned back to the old man.

"Where am I?" Harry asked, prepared to run.

The man seemed oblivious to his tensed posture and said, "Well, obviously inside a fucking house."

Harry shook his head, "I mean _where_,"

The man gave Harry the most confused look before speaking as though trying to explain something to a child, "New York, America."

The man glanced at Harry, as though trying to understand him but then he suddenly got up. He walked over to a table and picked something up, tossing it towards Harry.

With reflexes that he had gained from years of Quidditch, Harry grabbed it. It was a wand. Examining it, he realized that this was the Elder wand.

"This isn't my w-" Stopping himself before he said something he shouldn't have, Harry glanced up at the man.

The old man smirked down at him, "No, Harry Potter. You are incorrect. That is your wand."

"How do you know me?"

The man only smirked, shaking his head. No longer did he hold himself up as weak.

"How are you feeling, Mister Potter?"

Harry gave a dry laugh, pointing his wand at the man in warning, "Death's a bitch."

The man sniffed, "I resent that."

As the man took another step towards him, Harry growled, "Expelliarmus."

The spell bounced off the man, leaving not even a scratch.

"Who are you?"

The man smirked, his being beginning to morph. His face became younger and he became taller and broader, his suit no longer hung off his frame, instead it fit him perfectly. He had a roguish smirk on his lips as he fixed his suit before bowing low.

"Mors, commonly known as Death."

As Harry stiffened, he smirked devilishly, "Now why don't you put down that wand. It won't do any good."

With a disgusted look in his eyes, he added, "Master,"

"But I...I died." Harry mumbled, lowering his wand.

"I know," Death groaned, "I was so fucking close."

Walking over to the window, Death glanced down before looking at Harry, and then glanced back out the window.

"I don't suppose you could just jump out the window?"

"Why aren't I dead?" Harry asked, sliding down onto the ground,opting to ignore the man's question.

"You are very much so dead. Harry Potter, the boy-who-lived is dead."

Harry looked up just in time to see Death's eyes turn completely black for a second as he said,

"You have been reborn as Harold Potter, Master of Death."

A loud noise from outside made Harry jump. Standing up, Harry walked over to the window, wearly pushing the curtain away. He gazed down at the body of a fallen boy, blood pooling underneath him.

There was shouting, as the body was dragged away, as though this was a common occurrence.

"What is this?" Harry croaked turning to face Death,

The man that only seconds ago had a carefree attitude was now stiff and bowing low.

"Welcome Master, to a world where magic is myth."


	2. Chapter 2

**1962**

Harry drummed his hand against the counter as he read the essay. It was written by Bolivar Trask about genetics.

Death had told him that he had been brought to this world to do something. Something that the boy-who-lived had to be alive for. And from the way he had been eyeing the article, Harry had quickly grabbed it.

He held onto every word until he saw a cup held out to him. Turning his head, he saw Death holding a teacup for him.

Taking it from him, Harry sighed. Even after two years of being transported here, Death refused to leave him. Until his last breath, he had said, until the Deathly Hallows could be returned to him so that he would never have a master again.

"What do you think?" Harry asked, taking a sip of the tea.

He held the essay to Death who gripped it delicately, quickly skimming through it even though he already knew what it was about.

"Quite plausible. It might actually have already occurred."

His smirk made it quite clear that _might _was not the word that he meant.

Harry had become quite accustomed to Death's way. He would never give proper answers but he would also never lie.

"Is this why I've been sent here?" Harry asked, placing the now empty cup down.

As Death picked up the cup, he stopped next to Harry's ear and asked, "Is it, Master?"

Harry sighed, getting up and laying down on the couch. Even after two years, some of the spells that had hit him had left permanent scars. He stared at the ceiling, listening to the radio.

"You've not been sleeping." His tone was reprimanding.

Glancing at the clock, Harry frowned, "I woke only an hour ago, twat."

"You know what I mean."

Harry sat up a little, groaning, "Its the nightmares. I'd usually get Herm… I would usually take a dreamless sleep potion but I'm bloody awful at making them."

Harry's thoughts returned to his friends. The one's he'd left to die. All but abandoned. If he were there, he could've done something, or at least avenged them. And here he was, complaining about sleep. But if he did whatever he was supposed to do here, at least he could return to his own world to avenge them.

"Perhaps a walk will tire you out." Death hummed,

Harry scoffed. As he thought of an excuse, he found himself remembering his first day here, "I don't fancy being shot."

Death let out a throaty laugh as he looked down at the tiny (In comparison to his monstrous 6'4 height) wizard sprawled out on the couch. He could tell that his Master was wallowing in self hatred. It both amused at annoyed him- how mental torture could be just as harmful to mortals as physical torture.

"Would that not solve both our problems?"

"Sod off," Harry mumbled, giving it another try.

Or at least, that was what he meant because his face was shoved into the couch pillows so it came out as, "Sos oss."

"Perhaps a drink might help you forget for a small time period." Death persisted, his tone imploring as he glanced at the clock.

With a small sigh, Harry got off the couch, shrugging the coat that Death held out to him on and mumbled, "I better not get shot."

But he knew that Death had a proper reason. Even if he didn't know what the reason was.

"Don't be childish, Master." Death said happily as he led them out.

"I am a child." Harry mumbled, smiling softly.

Death shook his head as they walked down the street, "Perhaps you can make new friends."

"What good is it if they all die?" Harry asked, frowning as he heard the loud laughter from what looked to be intoxicated men.

As a drunk man tumbled past them, he grabbed onto Harry's arm roughly, spinning him so that he faced the man. His breath reeked of alcohol and with slurred words he said, "You...you're gon' die boy. We all gon' die."

Harry's free hand curled around the wand in his pocket, his mouth opening to utter a spell. Before Harry could cast a spell, a large hand curled around the man's wrist.

"I implore you to unhand my Master."

The drunkard turned his unfocused gaze to Death. And even in such a state, the man's unforgiving gaze made him shiver.

"These a..are… dark times."

When the man didn't loosen his grip, Death's eyes were cold as twisted the man's wrist until he heard a satisfying snap and a scream.

Harry scowled, leaning down and with a quick flick of his wand, fixed the man's broken wrist.

"Magic here might not be the best idea."

Death frowned, grabbing the man and shoving the man away from Harry, he then patted his hands together, as though trying to clean them. When he stopped, he walked over to the door of the building and opened it wide, bowing slightly.

"Oh great, even in this world, someone says I'm going to die." Harry frowned before walking through the door, "Thanks."

Walking through, Harry frowned at the upbeat atmosphere. It reminded him of home.  
Walking over to the back of the bar, he sat down at one of the tables, glancing at the crowd in the center of the room. They were crowding around a man with dark hair as he was chugging down a drink.

As Death lifted a glass to his lips, he said, "Watch the girl that's with him."

Even though Death had been facing Harry and hadn't glanced once at the group, he could still tell. Harry glanced over at the blonde woman who stood back as the man flirted with another woman. She had a small frown set on her face as she watched.

"What am I looking at?" Harry asked,

Turning his head, Death stared at the girl as well. His gaze as cold and emotionless as ever.

"You would be looking at…"

And as though she felt someone watching her, she turned her head to look at the man and boy who were in a corner, their eyes dissecting her as though she were a lab rat. And in that moment, she lost her concentration and her eyes flickered gold.

"A mutant." Death hummed, before draining the little drink that was still in his cup.

Turning his attention back to the other man, Harry found that he no longer had a playful look in his face, instead he was serious as he spoke to the dark haired woman.

Turning to Death, Harry said, "Some people back home also had two colored eyes. Is that what you mean by mutations?"

As the brunette woman got up and shook the man's hand, Death frowned,

"This world has much more evolved mutations. It gives them… abilities."

Harry sighed softly as he returned his attention to the blonde woman who was staring at Death with a troubled expression.

"Stop scaring her." Harry reprimanded, something about this girl reminded him too much of Hermione. They didn't look alike, not in the slightest. But she had the vulnerable look that Hermione had in first year.

Death blinked, and the woman seemed to snap from her trance, hurriedly returning her gaze to the man. Death smiled, his body shaking with silent laughter before he turned back to Harry,

"Of course, Master."

As Death pulled a wad of bills out of his pocket, Harry frowned, "Where are you getting all this money?"

Taking three of the crisp bills, he folded the rest and put them back in his jacket pocket before smiling at Harry, "From a dead man's pocket."

His gaze turned serious and his eyes snapped to the door, where the man and the women were exiting from.

"How much do you wish to return to your world?" Death asked, looking down at Harry's full glass.

Tentatively bringing the cup to his lips, Harry asked, "Why?"

Taking a sip of the drink, Harry recoiled at its strong taste that seemed to burn as he drank it.

Death didn't answer his question, instead he grabbed the cup Harry had now pushed away from him in disgust and downing it before saying,

"Humans think they're so evolved and superior. They don't quite understand that evolution hasn't stopped with them."


	3. Chapter 3

As Harry closed the book, he could understand now. He could understand why Hermione had loved books. Books made us feel as though we belonged somewhere, even when we really didn't. The pages welcomed us, inviting us into worlds that only existed for those who had read of them.

"Master,"

Harry's eyes snapped up to meet the dark, knowing eyes of Death. There was a flicker of emotion behind them, but it vanished as quickly as it had appeared and Death's face once more became blank.

Picking up the abandoned cup from the table next to Harry, he began walking towards the bedroom door, only to stop at the door and say,

"Some souls roll into my arms, others thrash unwillingly, unable to face their darkest memories, unable to accept their mistakes. I know each person who I've met intimately, and I can say with confidence that the only thing your friends regretted was leaving you."

Placing the book down on the table, Harry stood, rubbing his hands on his trousers before following Death.

"Let's go for a walk."

Shrugging his coat on, Harry followed Death outside the cold house. It felt odd in there. It lacked something that every other house had.

Even the Dursley's.

It lacked a family.

They walked aimlessly, side by side.

Death and his Master.

And they would do so for a long time.

And they had done so for a long time.

Death had watched over his Master's soul. Not only during the battle of Hogwarts but in fleeting moments also, he was the shadow in the darkest of alley ways, the paintings in the castle, and through the wicked bare branches of trees in the middle of winter he watched over his Master, silently promising him that a time would come when all he knew was peace.

The Deathly Hallows did not make one the Master of Death. This title was not earned as simply as dictated in the children's story. They only sealed the bond. Like dogs they would search the Earth and they would find one worthy of the title, for that one soul that would constantly be re-born. Whether Harry knew so or not.

"What did you mean when you said that?" Harry asked, yanking Death back into reality.

"Said what?"

"Humans think they're so evolved and superior. They don't quite und-"  
"Oh, that." Death spoke up, a light smirk pulling at his lips, "Just an observation."

Rolling his eyes, Harry looked around at the stores. It wasn't until he saw a familiar face that he turned to Death,

"Meet me back here in half an hour."

With that, he ran behind the familiar face, and followed it into the cafe across the street.

His eyes quickly scanned the packed cafe as he walked up to the counter.

"Just a coffee, please." He said to the lanky boy standing behind the counter, struggling with the plates in his hands.

When he had the warm drink in his hand, he walked over to a table at the back, where the blonde girl and dark haired man from the bar were sitting, deep in conversation.  
"Pardon me, may I sit here? All the other seats are taken."

Both pair of eyes snapped to him. The man shook himself from his surprise and smiled, "Of course, have a seat."

Harry pulled the seat back, sitting down.

_If the girl's a mutant, is the man one too?_

The man looked completely normal at first glance and yet, so had the girl. There was an awkward silence and Harry's eyes fell to the paper in the man's hand and he asked, "Bolivar Trask?"

Interest sparked in the man's eyes as he leaned closer and asked, "Indeed. I take it you've read it?" At Harry's nod, he continued, "What is your take on it?"

Harry gave a small uncomfortable smile, he never liked being put on the spot, not in Hogwarts and not now, but still he asked awkwardly, "Umm...about what part of it?"

"About mutation being a threat."

Harry hummed, "Well I mean, it depends right? Why not coexist in peace? Unless threatened, I don't see any reason why they couldn't."

Harry was only thinking of the wizarding world and the muggle world when he spoke. The two worlds coexisted, and while one didn't know about the other, it hadn't caused many problems...aside from a dark lord every now and then.

The man smiled, leaning back into his seat, apparently pleased with the answer.

Harry on the other hand decided to take it one step farther, "For all we know, there may already be mutants existing without our knowledge."

The man's expression didn't change, however his eye did seem to search Harry's face for something, but the girl… the girl was looking at Harry much more carefully now.

Before any of them could say anything, a shadow loomed over them. Turning in his chair, Harry saw Death smirking down at him from his monstrous height.

"Master," he drawled,

"I told you to meet me in half an hour," Harry mumbled,

"And it has been over an hour, Master."

Looking around, Harry realized that the cafe was almost empty, "Oh,"

"What's in the bag?" Harry asked,

Smirking, Death lifted the bag and said, "Books and… trinkets. Perhaps you should go pay."

Pulling a book out and flipping the old book open, Death made a path for his master to walk towards the counter and pay for the drink. He then slumped into the chair that Harry had just vacated, his smirk vanishing.

He had hoped his master would not get the time to talk to this specific mutant, his silver tongue was far too long and would undoubtedly ruin his plan.

"I don't like cheaters and liars." the raven haired man hummed with a slight frown on his face, his dark eyes never leaving the pages of the book in his hands. He did not give the duo sitting next to him the chance to respond as he continued,

"But my master is known for his kindness, and so I must to be kind to even the most unagreeable of _people_."

The man looked up calmly and said, "I'm certain you are confused, sir. We have not cheated anyone...nor have we lied."

Death growled towards the blonde girl before spitting out, "Her appearance is a lie."  
Death smirked at the fear and...defiance that flashed in the mutant girl's eyes before he continued,  
"Fear not...at least not yet. I cannot interfere. I am simply the ferryman for now. But when the time comes and my master tires of your deceitful words and horrible nature, I shall be there."

As Harry finished paying and made his way back, Death leaned close to the duo with a sneer,

"I never liked mutants. They think they're on the top of the food chain, about time that someone tore them down."

Death leaned back into his chair only seconds before Harry returned unaware of what had just transpired, "Thank you for letting me sit here."

Letting his eyes stray from the strange and harsh man that was sitting in front of them whose mind he could not read, the dark haired man stood, holding his hand out to Harry, "Not a problem. I don't believe I've introduced myself, Charles Xavier."

Smiling, Harry shook the man's hand, "Harry Potter and this is Mors."

"Raven," the girl said, rising as well.

Holding his hand out to her, Harry noticed how hesitant she was, but ultimately she grasped his hand, giving it a gentle shake. Harry didn't miss the look the cast towards Mors as she did so.

Just as Harry turned to leave, he heard Charles ask him, "So what is your mutation?"

"Excuse me?" Harry asked, turning back to face the man who was studying him.

"Your mutation. Your ability." Charles prodded, ignoring the harsh glare being sent his way from the large man who was still sitting.

"I am not a mutant." Harry said, "Good day."

"Then what are you hiding?" Charles asked,

He couldn't hide his curiosity. Harry and _Mors_ were the only two people that Charles had ever met whose thoughts he could not hear, not a word or whisper.

It was Death who spoke, "What makes you believe we are hiding something?"

There was a bite in his words, a silent threat.

"Because I asked you about your mutation and you weren't even slightly curious about mine."

"Mind reader. Soul searcher. _Abomination. Vermi-_" Death sneered, his words dripping with loathing.

"Mors!"

At his Master's angered tone, Death stopped instantly, turning to Harry, "He asked why we were not curious, I was merely explaining."

"What's gotten into you?" Harry demanded,

"_Vermin_! Their kind cheat death, they cheat everything. _Unworthy. Dirty. Foul_." Death hissed, losing his composure as his flashed, "Like _him."_

To anyone else it would have looked as though Death was talking about Charles but in reality, Death was projecting snippets of Voldemort in to Harry's mind. His creation of the Horcruxes, his _immortality, _the deaths he caused_._ And Harry could feel Death's rage at being cheated and he could feel Death's distress when he collected the souls of the young children who had fallen due to Voldemort's greed.

"They are no better." Death said once he'd regained his composure.


End file.
